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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29428707">Smoke &amp; Lattes</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/arcanine/pseuds/arcanine'>arcanine</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops &amp; Cafés, Getting Together, M/M, Magical Creatures, Magical Elements</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 13:36:01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>10,172</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29428707</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/arcanine/pseuds/arcanine</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>A tall, attractive man strolls into a coffee shop and Simon's world combusts. (Quite literally.)</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Penelope Bunce/Shepard, Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>40</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>180</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Snowbaz Sweethearts Fic Exchange 2021</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Smoke &amp; Lattes</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This coffee shop AU (with a twist) was originally written as part of the Snowbaz Sweethearts exchange. My original giftee didn't want it, so I'm gifting it to you instead, kind fandom &lt;3</p><p>Huge thanks to <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/waterwings/pseuds/waterwings">waterwings</a> and <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/NineMagicks/pseuds/NineMagicks">NineMagicks</a> for beta reading and for not only tolerating but encouraging my weirdness &lt;3</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>When the door to the coffee shop opens, Simon doesn't have to look up to see who it is. He already knows, in the same way he knows his shift pattern, or which bus to catch home. It's knowledge that's fixed in his brain, scattered amongst teabags and espresso shots and all the other little mundane details of daily life.</p><p>They don’t get a lot of business during the late shift. It’s the only time of day when things quieten down. When the chatty parents and the overworked business people and the gossiping teens have all gone home, leaving a small draggle of students and night owls. It’s Simon’s favourite time of day. The only moment when he can breathe without worrying about being yelled at over something stupid and insignificant. (A drink that’s too hot. A drink that’s too cold. A queue that’s too long. A toasted teacake that’s slightly overdone…) At this time of the evening, they only get a few regulars. Maybe the occasional tourist who’s seen them described as <em>a</em> <em>quaint little hipster abode, tucked under the bricks of a railway bridge </em>on TripAdvisor<em>. </em></p><p>What Simon means is, there's not a lot of people around. So it’s not that weird that he’s got this special radar that goes off whenever one particular customer makes his way into the shop. It’s totally normal that Simon’s heart starts pounding beneath his apron every fucking time. Totally normal that it’s doing that right now.</p><p>"Shep," Simon hisses. He gestures at the till, silently begging him to switch places, but his co-worker just gives him an encouraging thumbs up.</p><p><em>Talk to him</em>, Shepard mouths, but Simon doesn't know how. He takes a breath. It's not a big deal. He's just a customer. Just a bloke. All Simon has to do is make him a coffee and—</p><p>"Good evening," the man says, his voice as smooth as marmalade on toast.</p><p>In an instant, Simon’s warmer than he has been all day. He only needs to say two words back. Two simple words, but they get lodged in his throat.</p><p>"Uh—what do you want?" he blurts out. The words scramble together like mush.</p><p>Somewhere behind him, Shepard groans. It's so easy with everyone else. All of Simon’s other customers get <em>good morning</em>s and <em>welcome</em>s and <em>how can I help you this fine day</em>s, but not this guy. If he’s lucky, he gets a drink in exchange for a tap of his Mastercard. Simon just doesn't know how to deal with him. Something about his perfect face makes Simon's brain fail on every possible level.</p><p>"You know what I want,” the man says. His gaze is sharp as a fucking laser. He always does this. Exudes this stupid, sexy energy that says <em>you will serve me. </em>(And Simon does serve him. But only because it’s his job!)</p><p>"I'm a busy bloke,” Simon says casually. “Can hardly remember everyone's orders.”</p><p>The man steps closer to the counter. It takes all of Simon’s strength not to duck underneath it. “But you remember mine."</p><p>“But he remembers yours!” Shepard calls out traitorously.</p><p>“I only remember it because it’s stupid!” Simon snaps.</p><p>“So,” the man says, his gaze effortlessly cool. “To clarify. You do know what I want?”</p><p>Simon growls. This fucking guy has been in the building for ten seconds and Simon already wants to strangle him. “Wait there!” he yells.</p><p>Simon turns towards the coffee machine. He knows he’s being watched. Why can’t this bloke be like everyone else and look at his neighbour’s cousin’s dog on Facebook while Simon works? He always fucking does this. He stares, and that makes Simon overheat, and when he overheats, well...let's just say it's not ideal.</p><p><em>Espresso, </em>Simon thinks, forcing himself to focus. <em>Milk. Out of season pumpkin spice. Stupid bloke who manages to be equally irritating and attractive on every possible occasion and</em>—he takes a breath—<em>hot water. </em></p><p>The man has a name, but Simon tries not to use it. He tries not to think it because that one tiny syllable gets stuck in his brain. It keeps him awake at night.</p><p>Simon can barely look him in the eye. He's the fittest person Simon's ever seen. He dresses well and he loves football and his voice is so smooth and posh that Simon could listen to it all day. He already knows too much. He knows his teeth are far too nice for someone with a preference for sugary sweet drinks, and that he only ever comes here when it’s far too late for caffeine, and that his name is Baz. <em>Baz. </em>Fucking Baz.</p><p>Simon bangs on the coffee grinder with more force than he should, and the metal warms beneath his fingers. <em>Shit. Not good. Stay cool. </em>Ice cold, that's Simon. So frozen that he could belt out the entire chorus of<em> Let It Go. </em>He touches the milk jug, and the remnants of foam from an earlier cappuccino bubble back to boiling point.</p><p>Shepard notices and moves to tap Simon's shoulder. His fingers barely make contact before he pulls them back like he's been scalded. Shepard smiles through it, like the chill bloke that he is, but Simon feels guilt twist in his stomach. Stupid hot temperature. Stupid, stupid—</p><p>“Should I take that?” Shepard asks, stepping in. He's a good lad. A good friend. He knows that Baz has made Simon's milk jug boil over on more than one occasion.</p><p>“Please,” Simon says, twisting the tap so he can plunge his overheating hands under the cold water.</p><p>He promised Ebb. He insisted that his <em>condition</em> was under control when she gave him a job here. He was genuinely doing just fine before Baz started showing up, but now he's a walking disaster. He’s a human wildfire. Baz just makes him feel so...out of control. Sometimes, it almost feels like he's deliberately trying to push Simon into going off, but who the hell would do a thing like that?</p><p>No. Baz is just another customer. Simon shouldn’t fixate on his smile or his hair or the way he smells so nice that it’s kind of intoxicating. Bad things happen when Simon gets interested in people. He was obsessed with this girl from school once—Agatha. She complimented his hair, and he accidentally set a bin on fire. <em>Liking </em>people has always been out of the question. And people who infuriate and captivate Simon in equal measures? Banned. They should be banned.</p><p>He's asked Ebb a few times now if they could stop Baz coming in, but she just laughed at the suggestion. "Simon, love," she'd said, her eyes crinkled with warmth. "Why would we ban someone who has the good sense to support a small business instead of popping into the Starbucks down the street?"</p><p>"Because he bugs me," Simon grumbled. "And you know what happens when I get all worked up."</p><p>Ebb just patted him on the shoulder, flashing him one of her smiles. "It doesn’t control you,” she’d said. “You're doing just fine.”</p><p>If Simon's doing fine, then why does the whole world smell like smoke?</p><p>He finishes making the drink. Simon waits for Shepard to take it and hand it to Baz, but Shep steps out of the way, pretending to be invested in cleaning the sandwich toaster. Simon grabs it and plonks it on the end of the counter. It's a relief when the liquid doesn't boil over. When the porcelain mug doesn't crack.</p><p>"There," says Simon. "One pumpkin dickhead whatsit-called."</p><p>"Is that the official name for it?" Baz asks.</p><p>Simon shrugs. "Doesn’t have a name. It’s not on the menu. You're just entitled enough to ask for it anyway."</p><p>Baz wraps his hand around the mug. He has this way of looking at Simon that just unnerves him. Like he has this mad glint in his eyes, and Simon’s never sure if he’s gonna get punched or murdered or well—something else. (Something better?) (Something <em>worse</em>?)</p><p>"Has anyone ever mentioned that your customer service leaves a lot to be desired?"</p><p>"No," Simon says. “But cheers. Anything else you wanna critique me on?"</p><p>"Yes, actually," Baz says. “You should smoke less."</p><p>“Oh.” Simon shakes his head. "I don't smoke.”</p><p>Baz's eyes narrow. “Then why do you always smell like it?”</p><p>“Um...” Simon shouldn’t have denied it. What other reason is there for always stinking like a 20 pack of Lambert and Butler? "What’s it to you anyway?”</p><p>"A golden boy like you is much too good for that filthy habit.”</p><p>Simon's temperature rises again. "You don't know anything about me.”</p><p>"What if I'd like to?"</p><p>Simon coughs, and smoke billows between them. Soon, there’ll be thick clouds of it everywhere. He's mere moments away from setting off the fucking alarm. "I—I think someone's smoking in the toilets! I'd better go check and you'd better go drink that before it gets cold, okay, enjoy!"</p><p>He doesn’t wait for Baz’s reaction. Simon races into the store room and plunges his face into a sink full of cold water. Steam rises from it. Actual steam. When Simon emerges, the water evaporates almost instantly. Shepard clears his throat from the doorway.</p><p>“Is he gone?” Simon hisses, and Shep nods. Baz is probably at that table in the corner that he always favours, long legs stretched out onto the lino.</p><p>“That was an improvement,” Shep says kindly. “Way better than the other day.”</p><p>Simon groans. He grilled an entire fridge of ham and cheese toasties without touching them last time. Shep was kind about that too. “<em>Now they’ll take less time to cook!” </em>he’d chirped.</p><p>“Should I take your temperature?” Shepard asks. He’s been tracking the rise and fall of Simon’s physiological reactions in a tiny notebook. Sometimes, he looks at Simon like he’s a biology project, but one that he’s fond of, at least. Better than some of the looks Simon’s got from other people when accidents happened. When he had to pretend his wings were an out of season Halloween costume.</p><p>“I’m okay,” Simon says. “Can I—” He gestures at the fire exit behind the dishwasher. “Do you mind if I step outside for a sec?”</p><p>“Go,” Shepard says. “I’ll yell if we get a rush.”</p><p>“You’re the best, Shep. Thanks for…” Simon hesitates. “Thanks for always being cool.”</p><p>Shepard grins. “Well one of us has to be. I've got your back, y'know.”</p><p>Simon’s lucky to have him. He’d die without Penny, Ebb, and Shep. The only people in the world who know what he is and have actually stuck around.</p><p>"Does that mean you'll serve him next time?" Simon asks hopefully.</p><p>Shep laughs. "Not a chance."</p>
<hr/><p>The barista who works the late shift has a secret. Baz is quite certain of that.</p><p>He slinks off to the store room in a fluster, and Baz can't keep his eyes off his retreating form. But that’s not exactly a new development. Baz is a regular here. He drops by several times a week and would tell anyone who asked that it’s the warm light and the plush armchairs and the cosy smell of roast coffee that draws him back. But that would be a lie. The man behind the counter with the bronze curls and the warm smile is far more addictive than any caffeine habit. Baz knows their names, of course. Shepard’s the friendlier one, and Simon (no. Baz has to keep his distance. He has to call him <em>Snow</em>) is something else entirely. Stunning. Easily flustered. Bright like the sun.</p><p>He’s fucking lovely. That's not a secret, it’s just a fact. Something visible for all the world to see. Snow gives up his seat on the bus every day. He helps carry his elderly neighbour's shopping. He takes hot drinks and sandwiches to the homeless man under the bridge. Every move he makes is bloody noble and heroic, and that just irritates Baz more. He's not supposed to be charmed by Snow. Any warmth he feels towards him only makes this situation worse.</p><p>It doesn't help that Snow's gorgeous. He has a face to die for. The kind of smile that you'd queue for hours just to glimpse at. Baz's breath catches every time he gets all worked up. No one in the history of the world has ever blushed and blustered the way Snow does. The more Baz sees, the more he catches in his orbit, and that's not somewhere he's allowed to be.</p><p>Because the barista who works the late shift has a secret. And Baz has been tasked with revealing it.</p>
<hr/><p>Simon pushes out through the fire exit, kicking a crate in the doorway so it doesn’t close and lock him out (again). The secluded little alley where they keep their bins is the only part of the shop that isn't covered by the railway bridge. It's subject to drizzle and wind and snow, which is exactly why it’s been Simon’s cool-down spot for so long. He’s got furniture out here and everything. Or, well, he’s got an old garden chair that he snagged for free on Gumtree. It’s always piss wet through, but that helps. Simon needs to cool down more often than he’d like to admit.</p><p>He knows he sounds like a fucking toddler. Send Simon off to the timeout chair to chill out. But when he gets worked up, things get dangerous. When Simon melts down, the world does too. Literally. He’s set shit on fire without meaning to more times than he can count.</p><p>Simon's not a complete weirdo. Or, okay, he <em>is </em>a complete weirdo, but there's a reason for it. Maybe he doesn’t exactly know that reason yet, but he’s sure it’s out there somewhere. There’s gotta be some explanation for why he’s been like this ever since he was a baby. His parents didn’t exactly chuck him out with an instruction manual, but maybe it was a surprise to them too. It’s probably why they gave him up. Maybe he burnt his mum’s eyebrows off the second he popped out. (Or worse. He lies awake at night sometimes, certain that it must’ve been worse.)</p><p>There are some pros to being the way he is, of course. Shepard loves him. Simon gets no calluses from working around hot temperatures. He’s got a built in cigarette lighter. (Maybe he <em>should </em>take up smoking.) And if he ever gets trapped in the wilderness, he’ll be able to start a campfire in seconds. But some days, it’s hard to see the positives. Some days, it’s hard to look in the mirror and see anything but a fucking liability.</p><p>Would things be different if he was normal? If he was less incendiary, would he be brave enough to stroll over to Baz’s table and actually hold a conversation? Would Simon punch him or kiss him first? Would Baz kick him or kiss him back? Simon drags his trainer across the damp pavement and looks up at the moon.</p><p>It doesn’t matter, does it?</p><p>He’ll never get close enough to find out.</p>
<hr/><p>It takes too long for Snow to return. Twenty three minutes, to be specific. When he steps back into the space behind the counter, Baz sits up straighter and watches him over the top of his newspaper. They make this look so easy in films. It’s always seamlessly inconspicuous. But the flimsy paper that they use to print the free local news folds in Baz’s hands. The edges crumple into the dregs of his coffee, revealing Baz’s face in its entirety. He locks eyes with Snow. He’s not sure which of them looks away faster.</p><p>Baz has spent a lot of time lately staring at Snow from afar. At this point, he could probably get a PhD in Simon Snowology. He hasn’t exactly disclosed the depths of his investigation to his co-workers. He’d be a laughing stock if they knew he charmed himself to look like an elderly gentleman with a thick moustache last week and followed Snow around a 24-hour Asda. (Baz didn’t even find out anything new.) (But he did get a weird look when he leaned over in the frozen food aisle to glimpse at the contents of Snow’s basket.)</p><p>It’s possible that Baz is a little too invested in this case. But he’s never met anyone who blended in so easily with the Normals. If Baz hadn’t studied magickal creatures for years, he never would’ve noticed at all. That Snow’s a PowerPoint presentation from a stuffy meeting room brought to life. That Baz could tick off every move he makes on a list of tell-tale biological signs. He runs hot. He can heat liquid with a single touch. And the stench of smoke seeping from his pores at all times might as well be a flashing neon sign.</p><p>Simon Snow is a fucking<em> dragon</em>. And that just makes everything inconvenient. </p><p>Baz wishes this was just another chimera in the sewers. All his other cases seemed so simple in comparison. Shutting down vampire dens. Stopping goblins from committing heinous crimes. Hell, even reasoning with a bunch of numpties that kept barging into the sauna at a Normal spa was easier than this.</p><p>He wishes he’d never been assigned this one. That he could come here in ignorance and appreciate an attractive man and a good coffee without a second thought. He wishes Fiona wasn’t pressing him for results. That there wasn’t a file on the Coven’s database labelled SNOW, SIMON.</p><p>Baz sighs as he gathers his things and takes his cup back to the counter.</p><p>“Thanks for the drink,” he says, because he can’t resist. He can never just walk away without pushing or prodding.</p><p>"How was it?" Snow asks.</p><p><em>Perfect</em>, Baz thinks.</p><p>"Too hot," he says. "And so sweet. I'm lucky I still have teeth."</p><p>Simon huffs. "If it's so terrible, then why do you keep coming back and ordering it?"</p><p>The words slip out before Baz can stop them. "Because what else is there, in this tragic world, to look forward to?"</p><p>Simon smiles at him. Actually smiles. “I’ll see you next time."</p><p>
  <em>Next time.</em>
</p><p>How much longer can they keep doing this?</p><p>Baz pushes out into the dark, and he knows he’s just delaying the inevitable. Hesitation is futile. The creatures that murdered Baz’s mother didn’t hesitate.</p><p>Ungoverned beasts run amok. They cause damage that has painful repercussions. Damage that can’t be undone.</p><p>Baz learnt that first hand a long time ago.</p><p>And he won’t let it happen again.</p>
<hr/><p>“Slow night, eh?” Simon says.</p><p>“You’re telling me,” Shepard responds. He’s wiping down the counter for the fifth time, despite the fact that it’s already sparkling clean.</p><p>Simon gazes at the window again. He's stepped out of the front door twice now <em>for a bit of fresh air, </em>and both times, he didn’t see anyone approaching. Definitely no regulars that would normally be here by now. All he got was drenched, because of course, it's pissing it down again.</p><p>“There's still time, you know," says Shepard. "He might still drop by."</p><p>"Who?" Simon asks innocently.</p><p>“<em>Baz</em>,” Shepard says, and just hearing his name makes Simon's stomach twist. "I know you're waiting."</p><p>Simon’s cheeks flush. A few stray sparks fall to the ground and they turn to ash that scatters on the floor. He's thankful that the only person in the shop seems too invested in a game of Sims 4 to notice. He starts to protest, but the words fizzle out into a puff of smoke. Simon reaches for the dustpan and brush, crouching to sweep up the ash. “So what if I am?”</p><p>“If you are,” Shepard says, “then maybe it's about time you asked him out.”</p><p>“I don't want to ask him out!” Simon protests, so forcefully that the ash falls from his dustpan and he has to sweep it up again<em>.</em> “I wanna strangle him! I wanna ask him if he knows how smarmy he is. I want to meet him in a dark alley and I wanna—” Simon groans. “Oh God, I wanna go out with him. This makes no sense, Shep. What do I do?”</p><p>“You ask him on a date! You say, <em>‘ello fellow Brit, fancy a pint, </em>or whatever it is you guys say.”</p><p>Simon groans. “Even if I didn’t hate him. Or, if I hated him and still wanted to ask him out because I’m a fucking weirdo, then I’m still—” Simon gestures around. The room smells like a pub, pre-smoking ban. It's a wonder they have any customers at all. “<em>You know</em>."</p><p>"Who cares! You're a great guy. And if you stopped freaking out for even half a second, I'm sure you could seduce him with your—"</p><p>“Nobody’s seducing any customers!” Simon shouts, and Sims Girl looks up from her pixelated family. He lowers his voice to a hiss. “I’m a monster, Shep. And unless we have our first date on Halloween and Bonfire Night combined, then there’s no way I can—”</p><p>"There are <em>ways</em>.”</p><p>"Like what? You following me around with the fire extinguisher and blasting me every time he looks at me?"</p><p>"If that's what it takes!" Shep lowers his voice too. "There are options, y'know. There's this imp who follows my podcast and she dates all the time. And I know this hinkypunk who's been married to a regular old office guy for years.”</p><p>“But…” Simon frowns. “But what if he thinks I'm weird?"</p><p>“He probably already does," says Shepard. "But he likes you anyway, doesn't he? He's always asking about you. The guy's basically <em>obsessed</em>. He—” He stops suddenly, his eyes catching on a figure just outside the door. “Uh…”</p><p>Simon follows Shep's gaze to Penelope, shaking out her umbrella on the other side of the glass. <em>Speaking of obsessed.</em></p><p>"Alright," Simon says. "I'll think about it. But you have to do it first!"</p><p>"Me?" Shepard hisses back, and Simon nods.</p><p>"Yeah!" Simon says. "You!"</p><p>Shepard thinks for a second, then he nods. “Deal.”</p><p>“Bump on it,” Simon says, extending his hand.</p><p>Shepard’s fist collides with his own as Penelope pushes through the door and steps towards the counter. Her glasses are steamed up, and she’s wearing one of those practical pac-a-macs, and Shep stares at her in a mix of awe and panic. Like he’s never seen anything so amazing in his life.</p><p>“Hey, Pen,” Simon says.</p><p>"Hey, Pen!" Shepard repeats, and Penny blinks at the casual familiarity. That doesn't discourage him. If anything, it makes Shep all the more eager to throw a bright smile in her direction. "What can we get for you?"</p><p>"Simon knows my order," Penelope says, and Simon winces. She's a creature of habit. She hates any deviations from the norm.</p><p>"Uh—I'm busy," Simon announces. "I have to...I have to wash this blender!"</p><p>He turns away, giving Shepard his moment to shine. Shep's been smitten with Penelope for months now. And maybe if he can finally work up the nerve to say something, then Simon can too. (Maybe. Though the thought of it makes him feel like bursting into flames.) (<em>Literally</em>.)</p><p>"Looks like I’ll be helping you out after all," Shepard says. “So, how's work? Make any scientific breakthroughs today?”</p><p>Simon’s kind of jealous of the ease at which Shepard can speak to someone he likes. But only kind of. More than that, he’s just happy that two of his closest (or <em>only</em>) friends get along so well. Or mostly get along, anyway.</p><p>“The perfect cup of tea?” he hears Penny scoff. “I’d like to see you try.”</p><p>“Oh, I will,” Shepard says confidently. “And I’ll succeed too.”</p><p>“Alright then," she says. "Impress me.”</p><p>Shepard turns towards the water boiler. Simon’s been coaching him for this exact moment. He’s been whispering how Penny likes her tea like a mantra. Tea bag before milk, or else face the penalty of death. Use her travel cup—she’ll never forgive you if you give her disposable plastic. Let it brew for exactly 60 seconds. A dash of semi-skimmed milk, achieving a <em>Perfect Tan </em>on the tea colour chart.</p><p><em>You’ve got this, </em>Simon tries to beam into his brain. <em>I’ve trained you well. You know what to do.</em></p><p>Shepard makes it with the confidence of a man who has done his research. When he places it down in front of Penny, Simon swears she actually looks surprised.</p><p>“So?” Shepard says grinning.</p><p>Penny eyes him, clearly still suspicious. “I'll let you know.”</p><p>She holds up her debit card but Shepard shakes his head. “My treat.”</p><p>“Can he do that?” Penny asks me.</p><p>Simon shrugs. “Sure.”</p><p>Penny regards Shepard again, and there's definitely a fondness there. <em>Just do it, </em>Simon wants to yell. And then, remembering his side of the deal, <em>or, y'know. Don't.</em></p><p>"Thank you." Penny picks up her cup. "Well. I'd better—"</p><p>"Wait!" Shepard says, and Simon holds his breath. "Uh—well. I thought you should know that…that Simon's gonna ask out that guy he likes!" Shepard blurts out, and Simon glares at him.</p><p>"Are you?" Penny asks. "Oh, thank God." She turns back to Shepard. "He never shuts up about <em>that smarmy bloke with the perfect hair.</em>"</p><p>"<em>Bastard won't stop swishin' it everywhere," </em>Shepard adds, in a terrible attempt at Simon's accent.</p><p>"Yes!" says Penelope. "Exactly. That's him!"</p><p>“I don't sound like that,” Simon says, but the two of them ignore his protests.</p><p>“Well, I'm glad you're finally doing it," Penny says. "I hate all that faffing around. It's all crap if you ask me. If you like someone, tell them. The worst they can do is say no."</p><p>Shepard and Penny hold each other’s gaze for a moment too long. They turn away at the same time, pushing up their glasses in perfect synchronicity.</p><p>"Well, anyway. I should—" Penny gestures to the door.</p><p>"Of course," Shepard says. "Enjoy the tea."</p><p>“Thanks.” She makes her way towards the door. "See you at home, Simon."</p><p>Simon breathes a sigh of relief. At least this way, he’ll have more time to work things out. More time to practice asking out Baz without setting someone on fire.</p><p>"Penelope!" Shepard calls out.</p><p>Penny turns back around. "Yes?"</p><p>"Do you wanna—" Shepard pushes at his glasses again. "Would you like to watch a movie sometime?"</p><p>Penny hesitates for a second, and then she smiles. "Friday?"</p><p>"Perfect." Shepard grins. “Great! Uh, bye!”</p><p>Penny waves, then steps back out into the rain.</p><p>Shep stares after her retreating pac-a-mac with goofy grin. When she's out of sight, he turns to Simon. “Did you see that?” he asks.</p><p>Simon smiles back. "I saw."</p><p>"I did it!"</p><p>"You did!"</p><p>Their fists collide again in a well-deserved bump.</p><p>"One down one to go, huh?" Shepard says.</p><p>“What?” Simon's heart jolts nervously. "You're not really gonna make me do it, are you?"</p><p>Shepard’s grin is far too wide. "A deal's a deal."</p>
<hr/><p>"We had a deal," Fiona says into the phone resting against Baz's ear. It's Friday. Baz hasn't updated her for three days. And she doesn't sound happy about it. "You said you were gonna finish this."</p><p>"I know what I said," Baz says as he paces the street under the railway bridge. He must've walked the length of it six times. "But I need more time—"</p><p>"You've had time," Fiona says. "You've closed six other cases this month, and yet one little insignificant demon has got you totally stumped."</p><p>“He's not a demon! He's a dragon,” Baz corrects, and a woman passing by him gives him an odd look. He clears his throat. “Yes, that’s the Golden Dragon. Best restaurant in Chinatown, I've heard.”</p><p>At the other end of the phone, Fiona sighs. “You’re dragging your heels, Basil."</p><p>Baz can't deny it. He’s dragging his heels so hard that he’s surprised his shoes haven’t worn out completely. "But what if we're wrong about him? The evidence is inconclusive. And he just seems so…so harmless."</p><p>"We do this for a reason," Fiona says. "Now's not the time to go soft. Close this case by tonight, one way or another, or I’m reporting you for fucking negligence.”</p><p>“But I might lose my job. My livelihood. You’d do that to your own nephew?”</p><p>“Yes,” Fiona says, then she promptly hangs up.</p><p>It takes Baz another ten laps under the bridge before he works up the nerve to enter the coffee shop.</p><p>Snow’s face lights up like the sky on November 5th.</p><p>“Good mevening!" Snow barks from behind the counter. "Uh—Morning! Evening!"</p><p>Baz's heart sinks to his stomach. He wants to grab Snow by the ties of his apron and scream at him. <em>Why do you have to be so adorable? Every time you breathe, I want to kiss your stupid bumbling mouth. Your mouth should be fucking illegal.</em></p><p>But all he offers is a “hello” that’s far more curt than usual.</p><p>Simon grins in return. Has he ever smiled at Baz so openly before? "You haven’t been for a few days. Thought you got bored of us. Um, not that I was looking out for you or anything, but—” Shepard shoots him a look. “But—no, that’s not true actually. I was—” he takes a breath. “I was actually hoping you’d drop by.”</p><p>Snow’s flushed up to his ears. He’s wonderful and Baz <em>hates </em>it.</p><p>"Want the usual?” he continues. “I'm feeling nice today, so I won't even roast you for being pretentious."</p><p>"No," Baz says in a low voice. "I’d like to speak with you. <em>Privately</em>. We need to be alone."</p><p>The milk jug behind them tips and falls. The thermometer resting inside of it cracks.</p><p>"Shit," Simon mutters.</p><p>"Sorry," Shepard says, swooping in to clean it. "I'm so clumsy."</p><p>There's no way that was Shepard. He was re-stocking the fridge on the other side of the counter.</p><p>"We're closing in an hour," Snow offers. "I could meet you out front, say...at ten?"</p><p>Baz isn't sure he can wait that long. He's not sure he won't lose his nerve. "Alright," he says, guilt sinking like a weight in his stomach. “See you then.”</p><p>He pushes through the door and exhales.</p><p>He’s absolutely fucked.</p>
<hr/><p>They start to lock up early. It's not like there's anyone around. It's surprisingly quiet for a Friday night. Shep's buzzing that Penny's here, perched on the counter and debating what counts as a good film.</p><p>Meanwhile, Simon's a nervous wreck. Baz wants to talk to him. Converse about something other than credit cards or lattes. It must be something good, right? He wouldn't have suggested it if it was something crap. Baz wants to talk to him, and Simon needs to calm himself before he faces him.</p><p>His condition is flaring up something crazy. How can he face Baz like this? Simon’s forearms are covered in red scales. They've spread down to his hands. His fingernails have stretched into claws. He throws on a hoodie even though he's sweating, because he has to hide them somehow.</p><p>Simon tries to focus on the mundane act of locking up. Put the cash in the safe. Switch the machines off. Lug the rubbish outside. Try not to pierce said rubbish with claws.</p><p>It's dark when Simon steps out into his alley, but the moon is bright. Light shines down from the railway track above. It's drizzling again. It feels like it’s been raining for a month, but at least it cools Simon's skin. He wishes he had time to go home and shower. Simon probably stinks like coffee grains. But Baz likes coffee, doesn't he? That's something.</p><p>A clattering racket above Simon's head snaps him out of his thoughts. It's just a train. Nothing scary. He needs to get his act together. Only fifteen minutes until Baz gets here. Only—</p><p>He hears another noise and he jumps again. It's not a train this time. He looks up and there's someone there, a figure emerging over the top of the wall to the alley. Simon tenses. Are they being robbed? Is it some teenagers being little shits? Simon squares himself up, ready to fight off whoever it is. And then he draws in a breath.</p><p>It looks like...Baz? Simon blinks several times, wondering if his eyes are deceiving him. He blinks again. What the fuck? It <em>is </em>Baz.</p><p>Simon gawks. Baz glides down to the ground in one swift movement, almost like he's floating, and it's the prettiest thing Simon has ever seen. He's so awestruck he almost forgets that he's inconveniently part-lizard. He thrusts his hands into his hoodie pocket just in time, praying it's too dark for Baz to have noticed they're made of scales and scorched skin.</p><p>"Baz?" Simon says, as he lands in a graceful crouch. "What are you doing here? I—I thought I said I'd meet you out front."</p><p>Baz draws himself up tall. "You did."</p><p>"We closed a few minutes early," Simon explains, "but I would've let you wait inside. No need to jump over walls like you're Spiderman."</p><p>Baz’s face is dark and crumpled, like it's burdened by the weight of such a heavy expression. Any remnants of Simon's smile are washed away with the rain.</p><p>"What's wrong?" Simon asks. "You're being weird."</p><p>Baz wraps his arms around himself. There's definitely something wrong here. Simon reaches out towards him. It’s a grave mistake.</p><p>"Your hand," Baz says.</p><p>Simon looks down. He gasps. "Fuck," he says. “Um, I've got a—"</p><p>"Skin condition?" Baz fills in, and Simon nods. "Like I've never heard that one before."</p><p>Simon frowns. Baz reaches for him and takes Simon's hand in his own. He trails his finger over the bumps and ridges of his scales and Simon shivers. No one's ever touched them like that.</p><p>He swallows. "I can—"</p><p>"Explain?" Baz says. "I'd like to see you try." He leans in closer, his mouth by Simon's ear. "I know what you are."</p><p>Simon's breath catches. A chill courses through his body, and he can't move. For once in his life, he's frozen.</p><p>"You're not like everyone else, Simon Snow. You're not even human."</p><p>The words sting.</p><p>"You’re wrong,” Simon says weakly. “I’m—I'm just a coffee shop bloke."</p><p>"A coffee shop bloke," Baz repeats. "Then explain the claws. And the smoke. And the fact that you're a fucking dragon."</p><p>Simon flinches. His blood runs cold. Did he just say...<em>dragon? </em>“I’m....<em>what</em>?”</p><p>"You're an Unregistered Magickal Creature. And you've been dodging any attempts my department has made to contact you for years."</p><p>"Your department?" Simon takes a step back, shoving his hands back into his pockets, feeling his claws snag on the fabric. "What attempts?”</p><p>"There were letters," Baz says.</p><p>Simon frowns. Did he miss those? Did he carelessly toss them out with all that junk mail offering him a Capital One credit card?</p><p>“I didn’t get any!" Simon says.</p><p>"A likely story."</p><p>Simon feels so fucking stupid. All this time, he thought maybe Baz was paying extra attention to him because there was something between them, but it all makes sense now. That mad glint in his eye never meant Baz liked him. It meant that he was onto him.</p><p>Simon wishes his shitty powers would do him a favour for once. He'd love to burn a hole through the concrete under his trainers.</p><p>"I didn't! I always thought I was weird! But I didn't even know I was—what did you say? A dragon?" It feels right, somehow. Mental, but right. "You know me, Baz. I’m not dangerous. So just tell me what to do and we'll work this out, yeah?”</p><p>Baz nods, his face unreadable. "You need to come with me."</p><p>"Where?" Simon asks. "Do I need to sign a form or something? Go to court? Jail? Oh God, are you gonna sell me to the circus?"</p><p>Baz shakes his head. He's so stiff and cold. "There are...facilities."</p><p>"Right. So I drop by and then I can come back, yeah?"</p><p>"You'll be assessed for your suitability to live in Normal society. With proper preparation, you might be able to return here. But these things take time.”</p><p>“How long?" Simon asks, but Baz doesn't answer. "Can I leave when I want?”</p><p>“No.”</p><p>“You want to lock me up? But I’ve lived here all my life! I have a job! I’ve never hurt anyone!"</p><p>Baz pulls a small notebook from his pocket. “There are dates,” he says. “Records. Multiple occasions where witnesses have seen you displaying behaviour that may be risky to society."</p><p>"I'm not a fucking risk!" Simon growls. Sparks fly from his nose and narrowly miss Baz's shoes. They leave scorch marks on the ground. "I didn't mean to—"</p><p>“Exactly,” Baz says coldly. “You may not mean to, but you do. That's why we have laws to protect the world from creatures like you."</p><p><em>Creatures like you. </em>Simon’s always known he was a monster. But hearing it out loud stings something fierce.</p><p>A silence settles. They stand in a ceasefire, eyes locked, neither of them daring to move.</p><p>"Do it then,” Simon growls. “Get it over with. Just—"</p><p>“Stop right there!” an American voice booms.</p><p>Simon turns just in time to see Shep and Penny burst through the fire exit. They stand in the doorway to the alley like two superheroes. Penny's brandishing a large broom, and Shep is armed with one of their fire extinguishers.</p><p>"Step the hell away from my best friend,” Penny commands.</p><p>“We won't let you take him,” Shep says, waving the fire extinguisher. “I’m not afraid to use this!”</p><p>Baz sighs. "Shepard, I'm rather fond of you. But you have to let me—<em>ow.</em>"</p><p>Penny swings the broom and the handle cracks again Baz’s kneecaps. She's bloody lethal, and Simon loves her for it.</p><p>"That hurt!" Baz says.</p><p>"I’ll do worse next time,” Penny says. “Simon's a wonderful person and I'm not going to let you cage him up like he's some menace to society when the worst crime he ever commits is leaving his pants on the bathroom floor every morning.”</p><p>"I said I was sorry," Simon mutters.</p><p>“He belongs here with us," she says. "He's our family. And I’ll be damned if I let you take him when he's a perfectly normal member of—"</p><p>The sentiment is somewhat dulled by the red leathery wings that tear through the material of Simon's hoodie. Simon watches Baz's jaw drop as they stretch out, taking up half of the small alley.</p><p>"Really?" Simon hisses to his wings. "Now?"</p><p>"Run, Simon!" Shepard yells.</p><p>“Fly!” Penelope screeches.</p><p>Simon doesn’t hesitate. He takes off into the sky, past the railway bridge and up. He doesn’t stop to worry about who can see him. He flies into the dark sky and lets the wind and his wings take him away.</p>
<hr/><p>When Simon’s no longer in their field of vision, Penny finally allows herself to exhale. She meets Shepard’s eye, and they turn to face Baz together. He looks equal parts pissed off and dumbstruck.</p><p>“What did you do?” he asks.</p><p>Penny twirls her broom, for no other reason than impetuous flamboyance. “What had to be done,” she says.</p><p>“You don’t know what you’re dealing with. Stay out of this!" Baz kicks the gate to the alley open with his fancy shoe. Moments later, they hear the sound of a car taking off at a dangerously fast speed.</p><p>Shepard turns to Penny, his eyebrows knitted with concern. "Should we go after Baz?"</p><p>"No,” Penny says. She bites her lip, willing herself to think. Simon always has a way of getting himself out of trouble. He often manages just fine on his own. But she doesn’t like the thought of him being out there all alone. She has to help him somehow. That’s what best friends are for.</p><p>“Then what should we do?” Shepard asks.</p><p>Penny squints up at the moody sky like she’s expecting to see Simon whizzing across it. Then, she lowers her head and meets Shepard’s eyes.</p><p>“The only thing we can do,” she says. "Find Simon before he does.”</p>
<hr/><p>Baz can’t believe he could be so stupid. He can’t believe he let Snow get away. The evidence was there right in front of his eyes. Wings stretched across the sky, and he didn’t even take a picture. He shouldn’t have hesitated. He can't let history repeat itself.</p><p>He drives like a madman, casting <strong>make way </strong>and wishing he was powerful enough to blast all the damn traffic aside. The tracking spell proves useful. He follows on red wings and runs red lights, cursing under his breath. If someone sees Snow flying, this will get much worse. There are others in Baz's department who’ll be much less lenient. Crowley, what if he actually does get arrested? What if those wings are torn from him in some terrible procedure?</p><p>Baz keeps his foot pressed down, charging after the blur of red across the night sky. He waits until Snow’s low enough, barely inches away from the flat roof of some office. Then, he thrusts his wand out of the car window.</p><p><strong>“<em>Falling head over heels!” </em></strong>Baz casts.</p><p>He winces as he watches Snow tumble, hoping he didn't hurt him. He never wanted to hurt him. Never wanted it to come to this. Snow falls and Baz skids his car to a halt and leaps from it. He heads towards the roof, scrambling up the fire escape two steps at a time.</p>
<hr/><p>Simon lands with a clumsy bump. The left side of his body crashes down against the wet concrete. He curses under his breath. What the hell happened? He's never been the most graceful of fliers, but he's sure that wasn't an accident. It felt like being hit by lightning. Like something dragged him from the sky.</p><p>There's no time to work it out. Simon hears the sound of desperate footsteps on metal and he pushes himself up from the ground. Baz steps onto the roof, and Simon's heart sinks and soars all at once. He needs to crush that glimmer of hope that still flickers inside him when he sees Baz. It didn't mean anything. It was all lies and tricks and bullshit.</p><p>"Don't try to fly again," Baz calls out, stepping towards him.</p><p>"I wasn't planning to," Simon says, rubbing his side. He shifts a little, stretching his aching wings.</p><p>“Don’t move.” Baz extends his arm pointing, something long and thin towards Simon's chest. He holds it like a loaded gun. Like it's dangerous. “Don’t make me use this.”</p><p>"Don’t make you use a stick?” Simon says, his voice a little hysterical.</p><p>"Stop playing dumb," Baz snarls, and Simon swears the thing illuminates.</p><p>“I’m not playing dumb! I don’t know what the fuck’s going on! I—”</p><p>Simon hears flames crackle. When he looks down, his hands are ablaze. There's fire licking at his scales and claws. It feels like his whole body's molten. He meets Baz's eyes and he's staring in horror, as though Simon's moments away from lobbing fireballs. Like he's some kind of monster.</p><p>"So that's how you want it," Baz sneers.</p><p>He twists his fingers and then there's fire in his palm too. It's nothing like Simon's raging wildfire. It's controlled. And pretty. It's—</p><p>"Are you magic?" Simon asks. The words feel equal parts foolish and right. "You are, aren't you? You made me fall. You...you can make fire! How the fuck are you any different to me?"</p><p>"Because I'm not dangerous," Baz says.</p><p>"Beg to differ," Simon scoffs. "If I'd fallen down into traffic, I'd be a goner. But I suppose that's what you want, isn't it?"</p><p>"I don't want you dead! I just want—"</p><p>"What?" Simon demands. "What do you want, Baz?"</p><p>They stand facing each other, and London shines below them in the dark. The rain pours heavier. The fire blazes bright.</p><p>Baz wavers. He looks so unsure. "I want," he says eventually, "for you to stop threatening me."</p><p>"You're the one pointing your stick at me!"</p><p>"For Crowley's sake, Snow. It's a <em>wand!"</em></p><p>Fire bursts from Baz's hand and collides with Simon's leg. It doesn't hurt, but it scorches the bottom of his jeans. Typical. His best fucking pair.</p><p>"What did you do that for?" he shouts.</p><p>"What's wrong?" Baz asks. "Scared you're flammable?"</p><p>"I don't want to fight you! Stop!"</p><p>Baz flicks his hand again. More fire. All it does is piss Simon off more.</p><p>“I said <em><strong>stop</strong>!”</em></p><p>When a burst of bright light shoots from Simon's hand, it's entirely unplanned. Everything happens in a blur. Simon watches it—whatever it is—collide with Baz's chest. His wand clatters to the floor. Baz stumbles and falls.</p><p>Off the roof.</p><p>All the way down.</p>
<hr/><p>Baz is falling.</p><p>Wind is rushing.</p><p>He shouts a spell, but he has no wand.</p><p>It's over.</p><p>And then it's not.</p><p>And then two arms grip around his waist and heave him back up into the sky. All he sees is red wings beating, and the wind is rushing again, but this time, it's not against him. They're flying. Simon's voice cuts through the rain and the rush of blood to Baz's ears.</p><p>"I warned you!" he yells. "I told you to stop!"</p><p>He swoops down towards the ground. Simon's trainers collide with damp cobblestones, and Baz feels like he's still soaring. He leans against Simon, legs too weak to stand. When his vision blinks back into focus, he almost wants to laugh. Another alley. What is it about Simon Snow and bins?</p><p>"You saved me," Baz says, barely able to catch his breath.</p><p>"Yeah," Snow says. His voice is close. His breath is warm. "Like I said. I'm not actually a complete arsehole.”</p><p>“Why didn't you just let me fall?”</p><p>"Well, I'm not exactly gonna let you smash your skull on the pavement, am I?"</p><p>Baz frowns. He still feels lightheaded. "I suppose you expect me to thank you?"</p><p>"Well," Snow says, "I did kinda knock you off in the first place so...call it quits?"</p><p>Baz nods. Perhaps that's what he gets for antagonising dragons in high places.</p><p>"I could've saved myself if I had my wand, I could've—oh, Crowley. Where's my wand?"</p><p>"This thing?" Snow says, and he has it. He's holding Baz's wand. "Where did you get it anyway?"</p><p>"Ebay,” Baz says flatly. He snatches it from Snow's grubby fingers and tucks it back into his pocket. (<em>Fingers</em>. The claws are gone. His hands are back to normal, just like that.)</p><p>"Really?"</p><p>"Of course not! Do you know nothing about the World of Mages?"</p><p>"No!" Simon says. “I didn't even know there were other things like me out there until you told me. Well, I mean, there's the creatures Shep talks to on the Internet, but do you know how many wannabes there are out there? How many people think drinking tomato juice means they're Dracula or some shit?"</p><p>Dracula? Tomato juice? Baz shakes his head and mentally backtracks. "You don't have a clan? A family?"</p><p>"No,” Simon says again. “I don't know where I came from. I don't even have parents."</p><p>Baz pushes free from Simon’s grip. He wobbles and Snow reaches for him.</p><p>“Careful." His blue eyes are far more concerned than they should be.</p><p>Baz pulls away again, standing steadily out of sheer willpower. Simon Snow doesn't know where he came from. He doesn't even have parents. How can he be expected to control his powers when he's never received a single lesson? When he doesn't even know what he is.</p><p>Baz groans, and he must sound dreadfully weary, because Simon interprets it as pain.</p><p>"Did I hurt you?" he asks. "I'm…I'm sorry. I don't know what I did before, but—"</p><p>"It was magic," Baz says.</p><p>"Magic?"</p><p>Baz nods. "Magic."</p><p>Snow looks suitably confused. He looks like he's trying to handle a thousand thoughts at once, and Baz knows that feeling. He's overwhelmed too. He's got no idea how to proceed. There are protocols, but fuck protocols. Fuck the rule book. Fuck <em>everything</em>.</p><p>"Listen," Baz says. "I know there's no possible way you can trust me after everything, but you need to get out of here. You—"</p><p>"Simon?” a voice calls out.</p><p>"Penny," Simon murmurs. The girl with the broom. It has to be.</p><p>“Shepard,” Penny says, “I thought you said that <em>find my mobile </em>tracking would work.”</p><p>“It will!” Shepard says. “He’s here somewhere, I know it.”</p><p>Baz grips Simon's shoulders. He tries to ignore the way it aches, knowing this is as close as he'll ever get. The only time he'll get to touch him, scorching skin and all.</p><p>"I won't come after you," Baz says, his voice low. "You'll never have to see me again."</p><p>Simon meets Baz's eyes. "Never?" he says. "But what if—"</p><p>"Simon?” Penny calls again. “Simon!”</p><p>For once, Baz doesn’t hesitate. He knows what he has to do. He turns and he runs, casting for stealth and speed, and he prays that Simon Snow will do the same.</p>
<hr/><p>In a breath, the alley is empty.</p><p>"Baz?" Simon calls out. "Baz! Where did you—"</p><p>Penny and Shepard round the corner and race towards him, and Simon’s heart stumbles with relief.</p><p>"Oh, thank God," Penny says. "You’re okay!"</p><p>“I’m okay," Simon says.</p><p>"What happened?" Shepard asks, nodding at Simon's scorched jeans.</p><p>"Honestly?" Simon says. "I don't know. But I’m glad you found me. I’m sorry about all this.”</p><p>Shepard shakes his head. "What are you sorry for?"</p><p>Simon flashes them a sheepish grin. "Ruined your film night, didn't I?"</p><p>"It wasn’t ruined," Shepard says. "It was improved, actually. We got to race across London. It was like being <em>in </em>a movie."</p><p>"I'm just glad you're alright," Penny says, throwing an arm around Simon's back. "How <em>are </em>you alright? Did we find you first?"</p><p>Simon shakes his head. “He found me. But...but he just ran away.”</p><p>"What?" Penny frowns.</p><p>"Some kind of trap, I assume?" Shepard says. "Has he gone to get reinforcements?"</p><p>Simon thinks about Baz's eyes before he ran off. <em>You'll never have to see me again. </em>He shakes his head in an attempt to dislodge the lump in his throat. "I don't think so."</p><p>"Well. We'll be ready if he does," says Shepard.</p><p>"We will," Penny says. "Let them bloody try."</p>
<hr/><p>"You wanted to see me?" Fiona asks. She's seated behind her huge desk. She <em>fucking </em>loves her huge desk. Baz is sure she spells it larger every week. That one day he'll walk into his office and it will be as long as an Olympic sized swimming pool.</p><p>"Yes," Baz says, closing the door firmly behind him.</p><p>"About..." Fiona says, waiting for Baz to fill her in.</p><p>"The Simon Snow case," Baz says, and Fiona nods. "I’m here to formally request that we close it.”</p><p>Fiona raises an eyebrow. “Have you brought him in?”</p><p>Baz shakes his head. “Not exactly.”</p><p>“Basil!”</p><p>“We’re wrong about him, Fiona. He’s not dangerous. He has powers, yes, but with some minor coaching on how to control them, I think he’s more than suitable to carry on the way he is.”</p><p>Fiona exhales. “Magickal creatures—”</p><p>“Are not all inherently evil.” Baz says, pacing in front of Fiona’s desk. “And who gave us the right to govern them, anyway? Why does having words make us any better?”</p><p>“It was your mother who started the Register.”</p><p>Baz tenses. He stops pacing and meets Fiona's eyes. “I'm not sure that everything she thought was right.”</p><p>Fiona’s face looks suddenly defensive. “Your mother was a brilliant woman.”</p><p>“I know,” Baz says. “Of course I know that. But I can love her and disagree with her on some things. I think that that’s okay. Times are changing. And it's about time we make some changes to how we do things.”</p><p>Fiona groans. “You want to kill me. You want to bury me under a mountain of paperwork and," she suppresses a shudder, "and advocacy work." She pulls a flask from her top drawer and takes a large swig. The very thought of it seems to fill her with horror.</p><p>"There's another thing too," Baz says.</p><p>"Let me guess. You want me to lose Snow's file."</p><p>"If you did, I assure you, no one would come to any harm. I’d personally keep a close watch on him.”</p><p>"I'm sure you would." Fiona takes another swig. “It's a big ask, y'know. You're asking me to break the law."</p><p>"Like you did when you lost Nico's file. Or when you drive over the limit and spell your tickets away. Or—"</p><p>“If I agree," Fiona says, "will you shut the fuck up and get out of my office?”</p><p>Baz nods. “Immediately.”</p><p>“Come here, then.”</p><p>Baz steps around her desk. A weight lifts from Baz's chest as he watches as SNOW, SIMON disappears into the void. “Thank you."</p><p>Fiona gives him a look. “For what? I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about. Get out. And get me a coffee. Large. Black. Spiked. Ask your favourite coffee bloke to make me one.”</p><p>“But...that’s halfway across London.”</p><p>Fiona grins. “Then you’d better get going, eh?”</p>
<hr/><p>When Baz steps into the coffee shop, it's mostly empty. Shepard and the girl—Penny, was it?—jump to attention. She brandishes the broom again, her expression filled with malice.</p><p>“You have some nerve showing your face here,” she says. “If you’re here for Simon, then you can think again. He already left the county. You’ll never find him.”</p><p>For a moment, Baz's heart sinks, and then he smells the telltale scent of smoke. If Snow’s not here, he must’ve been only moments earlier. He’s not gone. Not yet.</p><p>“That’s a shame,” Baz says. “I hoped I could speak with him.”</p><p>“Why?” Shepard asks, and Penny elbows him.</p><p>“Don’t engage with the enemy,” she hisses.</p><p>“Because I told my colleagues I was mistaken about him,” Baz says. “I'm booked in for a mandatory eye test. I fear I'll never live it down. My whole department thinks I'm an idiot."</p><p>Penny raises an eyebrow. "And?"</p><p>"And I’m not here on a job. I'm here as a…” Baz takes a breath. “As a friend.”</p><p>"Friend?" Penny scoffs. "Simon doesn't want your friendship, you disgusting smarmy traitorous—"</p><p>“It’s okay, Penny.”</p><p>Baz turns towards the store room and Snow’s standing in the doorway. He looks tired and worried and beautiful. He looks so fucking beautiful.</p><p>“Simon,” Baz murmurs.</p><p>“Alright, Baz,” he says, with a nervous smile. “‘Spose you’re here to take me away, then?”</p><p>“No,” Baz says. “I’m not. I know you have no reason to believe me, but I’d like to talk to you.” Baz clears his throat. “If you’ll allow it.”</p><p>Simon hesitates. "That didn't go so well last time."</p><p>"I know," Baz says. "And you can kick me out right now if you want, but I—"</p><p>The door to the shop opens. A woman walks in talking on her phone, and the four of them freeze.</p><p>"I know babes," she says, "but I promise you, the salmon will go down better than the—one sec. Small skinny latte please. To go. Listen, I don't care if grandma doesn't like salmon, she can go eat a—"</p><p>“Do you mind getting that?" Simon asks Shep.</p><p>Shepard pats him on the shoulder. "Sure."</p><p>“This way,” Simon says. He beckons Baz behind the counter.</p><p>Penny startles in alarm. “Simon!"</p><p>“I’ll scream if he tries to kill me,” says Simon.</p><p>Salmon-woman halts her conversation to stare.</p><p>“Come on,” Simon says again, and Baz follows him.</p><p>“Leave the door open,” Penny yells after them.</p><p>The alley is even uglier in the light of day. Simon kicks a crate to keep the fire escape open. He gestures at a grubby plastic chair.</p><p>“I only have one. But feel free to sit down if you want.”</p><p>“I’m fine,” Baz says. He walks towards the gate, as though being slightly further from the door will keep the prying ears away. There’s so much to be said that Baz hardly knows where to start.</p><p>“Snow,” Baz says, and then he corrects himself. “<em>Simon</em>." He swallows. "I’d like to start with an apology. Crowley knows I owe you one.”</p><p>Simon blinks in surprise. “You do?”</p><p>Baz nods. “I was wrong about you. About everything. I apologise for all the presumptions I made. I want you to know that it wasn’t personal.”</p><p>“Tracking me down and trying to capture me wasn’t personal?” Simon asks in confusion.</p><p>“No. You’re right. It <em>was </em>personal, but it was also my job. I’ve done it for years. When you've grown up being told something, it's difficult to break free of those ideals. But that's something I'm going to work on."</p><p>“Oh,” Simon says. “Uh, cool. Good for you.”</p><p>“We’re planning on making some changes to how we do things. It'd be quite helpful if I could drop by and ask your opinion. For work, I mean.”</p><p>“Right,” Simon says flatly. “Yeah. Work.”</p><p>“I completely understand if you don’t want to, after everything I’ve done, but—”</p><p>“No," Simon says. "It's your job. I get it. You're like a posh monster hunter. Kinda cool, really. That’s not the part that bothers me.”</p><p>"It isn't?” Baz asks, and Simon shakes his head. "Then...what is?"</p><p>“Well, you dragged it out for months, didn’t you? You kept coming back and flirting with me and I know you were just undercover or whatever, but you made me think....” Snow bites his lip. “I kinda thought you liked me.”</p><p>“I do,” Baz says, and Simon's eyes widen. “That wasn’t a lie. That’s why I dragged my heels for so long. Because I saw you, monster parts and all, and I still wanted you. I still do. And I really, truly wish that I’d met you under entirely normal circumstances so that I could—”</p><p>Baz doesn’t get a chance to finish. There's no space for words, not when there are far better uses for his lips. Simon presses him against the fence, crushing any thoughts Baz might have with hot molten heat, with lips that are bossy and demanding. He presses fire in Baz’s veins. It’s like kissing the surface of the sun. It’s—</p><p>“Fuck!” Simon hisses as he pulls back.</p><p>Baz open his eyes, and jerks back in alarm. It's <em>chaos.</em> The wings have popped again. Snow's hands are covered in scales. Behind them, a rubbish skip is ablaze, and the air is thick with enough dark smoke that even Baz—a habitual stress smoker—coughs. Simon reaches for a fire extinguisher stashed underneath his chair and blasts out the bin fire. He looks at Baz, face filled with heat and embarrassment.</p><p>“Uh, I don’t have a lot of experience with—” Snow coughs and flushes harder. “What I mean is, this is kinda new to me. But I swear, I’m not dangerous. I just like you so much that I—oh fuck, sorry. It kinda has a mind of its own sometimes."</p><p>Baz looks down. There's a red tail curled around his thigh. "Are you saying it's me that makes you out of control?"</p><p>"Yeah,” Simon says. “Fuck. You actually do and I hate it and I like you and you're just so<em>—"</em></p><p>Baz kisses him again, for as long as Snow can stand it. Until he pushes Baz away, gasping for air and searching for bin fires.</p><p>“Uh—" Simon turns back to him with a shy smile. "So...what now? Will you come visit me in dragon jail?"</p><p>Baz laughs. “You’re not going to dragon jail."</p><p>"I'm not?"</p><p>"It doesn't exist, for a start. And we deleted your file."</p><p>"You did?"</p><p>"Yes. My manager agreed on the condition that someone keeps an eye on you."</p><p>"Are you volunteering?"</p><p>"Yes, actually. I am."</p><p>"I have scales.” Simon says. “You know that, right?”</p><p>"You do." Baz runs his finger over the jagged bumps on Simon's arm. He leans in to murmur by his ear. "And I love them."</p><p>Simon jumps. The smoke thickens. “W-we might need to go slow! Ebb will never forgive me if I burn this place down! I need some time. To get used to how fit you are. I'm worried I might set you on fire, or—”</p><p>“We can go slow,” Baz says, fingers brushing down his scales again. “You have a lot to learn. But thankfully, you have a very patient teacher. And I'm more than willing to deactivate my smoke alarm."</p><p>When Simon's finished blustering, he narrows his eyes. "Are you sure you're not just doing this to arrest me?"</p><p>"Oh, I've got much better plans for you than that," Baz says.</p><p>"Like what?"</p><p>"Free coffee, for a start."</p><p>"Coffee!" Simon's face lights up. "Do you want one? We can sit on real chairs. And I can start convincing Penny you're not evil. Might take a while, but she's amazing, I swear."</p><p>He leads Baz through the fire exit, past the dishwasher, and into the warmth. It's a familiar sight—Snow behind the counter. And now there's no need to feel guilty about how much he enjoys it.</p><p>"So," Simon says. "What'll it be?" </p><p>Baz grins and leans in. "You know what I want."</p>
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